


Thunder

by VampFan



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3839383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampFan/pseuds/VampFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot Charloe</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

**Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters.**

**Hope you like :)**

**Thunder**

Sebastian Monroe sits in his chamber. It’s a dark, dark night and his heart feels darker. It’s been months since she had escaped his clutches. Every night, those blue eyes and blond curls haunt his dreams.

“Get her!” he yells to the guard as he sees her escaping.

She runs towards the stairs leading to the main entrance.

_How did she get this far?_ Oh, he will have the head of the man that let her escape. He continues to chase her down the stairs.

“Stop!” he yells to her, but she continues running towards the door; towards her freedom. There is enough distance between them; she manages to open the door. He pulls his gun out and points it at her.              

“Don’t move,” he says. They stare at one another, unsure of how long. It feels as if her eyes are piercing into his soul. His finger is on the trigger, but somehow he can’t pull it.

“If you want to stop me, shoot me,” she says to him in combined rage and determination.

He wants to do it. He wants to end it; somehow, he’s standing there with his gun pointed at her, unable to do it.

“Sebastian.”

“Charlotte”

And she is gone. The thunder rages in the background. It’s all he hears.

“How did I let her get away?” he asks, breathing heavily.

Bass turns his head and sees his men approaching.

“General? Where is the woman?” One of his captains asks. “Did she escape?”

All Bass can here is the thunder roaring outside and his own heart beating inside his chest.

……

The sky is darker than she’d ever seen it, thunder roaring in the background.

His face haunts her as she runs through the field, faster and faster towards her freedom.

_“Charlotte!”_

She remembers him calling her name right before she fled into the dark night, his voice like velvet. She tries to shake it off and keep going. She spots a barn in the distance and runs towards it. Her lungs are on fire from running, but she pushes on.

Charlie reaches the barn. She wrenches the door open and steps inside, closing it behind her. The rain is pouring down and she’s thankful to have found shelter for the night. The barn seems abandoned, empty of animals—another thing she’s thankful for.

“Guess I don’t have to sleep with the cows tonight,” she says to herself, smiling.

Charlie prepares a makeshift bed and takes out a blanket from her backpack. She takes out her knife and holds it tight to her chest. It only takes a few minutes to drift into a deep sleep.

Blue eyes and a velvet voice will haunt her dreams…

 

Charlie wakes up in her bed of straw, sensing she is no longer alone. Pulling herself into a crouch, she keeps low, her knife still in hand. She holds her breath and listens, and yet hears nothing. Still wary, she creeps from the stall she’s chosen for her bed, stopping at the end of the wall.

She thinks she sees a shadow, but it is nothing. The rain has stopped and the moon is now shining through the cracks in the shuddered, glassless windows. She can still hear the sound of distant thunder, indicating that the storm has not long been over.

She silently searches the barn, ducking in and out of stalls, just in case. Despite her wariness, she finds nothing amiss. Deciding to trust her instincts, she heads back towards her stall, intent on grabbing her things and making a run for it. Turning a corner, she runs headfirst in to a solid wall of man.

In the darkness, she can’t make out his features. She struggles against the intruder’s grip, fighting as best she can. He’s already knocked her blade from her hand. She suspects it’s landed in the straw, because she doesn’t hear it land.

“Oh no, you don’t. You’re not getting away that easily.”

She stills for a moment. _That voice_. She’s heard it echoing in her ears ever since she’s fled. She begins to squirm and fight again, desperate to get away from the one man that she’s escaped and yet somehow carried with her.

All of her training amounts to nothing. His arms are locked around her like a vice and he seems to anticipate her every move.

“Settle down before you hurt yourself,” he breaths into her ear.

Letting out a snarl of frustrated rage, Charlie gives up. “Now that’s better,” he says dryly.

That does it. It’s bad enough having been captured by the man. To have him practically gloat is more than she can bear. Her thrashing and kicking begin anew, this time with more strength and determination than before. The next thing she knows they are both falling. After that, darkness.

She wakes up soon after, finding herself tied to a support beam. The general is there, leaning up against one of the walls to a nearby stall, looking quite pleased with himself. “Told you you’d hurt yourself,” he says, laughing despite the daggers she’s shooting at him with her eyes.

 

“So, what? You’ve decided to do your own dirty work for once?” She spits at him, the venom in her tone slapping at him as she speaks.

“Well, you want something done right…” he replies, the smug look of victory etched onto his features. He’s opened some of the windows, so the moonlight shines through now. “I’ve been looking for you, _girl_. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

When he takes a predatory step towards Charlie, she unconsciously flinches away from him. “So now that you have me, what are you planning on doing with me?” she asks.

“Locking you up in the deepest hole in the Republic comes to mind.”

“There’s nowhere you can put me where I won’t escape, you psychotic son of a bitch,” Charlie taunts.

He takes a step forward, raising his hand as if to strike her. Charlie stares him down coldly. “You want me to hit you, don’t you?” he asks. “Now why is that?”

“Try it, bastard.”

He pauses, his jaw clenched in anger and yet he still doesn’t retaliate. Instead, he studies her for a few more moments before visibly relaxing a little. “Now that’s the second insult you’ve made to my mother in the past two seconds. Do it again, and you won’t like the consequences.”

“Sensitive subject? Well, she must have been a piece of work to spawn something like you,” she bites back.

When he closes the distance between them, Charlie realizes that she may have gone a bit too far. She opens her mouth—to apologize, to insult him further—she’s not sure which really. He silences her with his mouth, crushing it down over hers with brutal force.

It’s not so much of a kiss as it is a reprimand. Even so, Charlie feels her stomach fluttering and loses all train of thought for just a split second. Her pulse races and she suddenly feels like she can’t breathe.

It ends as abruptly as it begins. He steps back and she can swear she can see his chest heaving, as if he’s been similarly affected. They stare one another down again, both sets of blue eyes popping and sparking with anger and… something.

His gaze drops and it takes Charlie a second to realize what he’s looking at. In her earlier struggles, her shirt has been torn and it offers him an unimpeded view of her bra. She closes her eyes for a second, lost in thought. This is the President of the Republic, General of the Militia. A mortal enemy and yet he’s staring at her rack like a man who hasn’t seen a woman for months.

“Well, at least I know how to shut you up now.” The words break her from her reverie. His eyes are now on her face again, as if the slight hadn’t happened. And yet, his voice sounds just a bit shaky, like he’s only spoken to fill the silence and cover up the sound of his own harsh breathing. “Now, say you’re sorry.

The mask has now slid back into place completely, and his sardonic demeanor has returned in full force. This irritates her to no end, and will not be borne.

“Go to hell,” she tells him.

He approaches her again, intent on giving her another lesson. Charlie anticipates this and turns her head to the side at the last second. His mouth lands on her neck, just below her ear instead. Happy to improvise, he shocks the fight right out of her.

He’s not rough; the contact is feather light, gentle even. His lips ghost over her skin, sending an involuntary shudder through her. Suddenly, the air around them changes. It’s charged and yet too stuffy all at the same time. She squeaks a little gasp and unconsciously shifts closer to him.

“Do you really want me to go to hell, _Charlotte?_ ” he murmurs against her neck “Or, do you want me to go somewhere else now?”

As he speaks, he runs one hand down towards the tear in her shirt. She knows she should fight back, but as her heart pounds and a small moan locks in her throat, she can’t force herself to do more than sag against the support beam and let him touch her.

When his fingers work their way past the ruined neckline, she arches her back as best she can with her hands so bound, encouraging him against her will. The gasps that accompany her movements are all the permission he needs. He grabs her chin with his other hand and gently forces her to face him.

This time, his tongue finds its way towards hers and instead of using her own to lash out at him once more, she uses it to seek and taste. Distracted, Charlie is barely aware that his long fingers have undone what’s left of her shirt. He breaks his mouth free and works his way down to the swell of her breasts.

Pausing there, he slides a hand up the back of her shirt and flicks the clasp in the middle of her back. He now turns his attention back to the soft orbs, flipping the garment up and out of his way. She leans against the beam, as he steps between her legs and begins to tease and torture her, cupping her breasts and covering them with his kisses.

She can feel his hardness against her thigh. The fact that he’s now as lost to this as she is only makes her want more. He works her for a while, each whimper urging him on. He flexes his hips, rubbing up against her so she can feel his erection digging in to her.

When one hand slides down her belly to the waistband of her pants, Charlie’s knees become weak. She struggles against her binds, but it’s not to seek escape. The urge to touch him is too strong. He undoes the button and zipper, and slips a hand inside. Wasting no time, he parts her curls and runs a finger down her slit, groaning and bringing his head up to claim her mouth when he finds her drenched.

“Do you want more, Charlotte?” he asks as he enters her with one long finger.

In response, she shifts, spreading her legs further apart to allow him more access. His palm grinds against her, sending a shockwave of desire through her body each time he pumps his finger back inside. She knows this is so wrong, but she can’t think past the onslaught of sensation he’s forcing upon her.

There’s no fight left in her. Charlie has no choice but to surrender to him and to this. She starts to moan as he builds her up. Her hips thrust forward to meet his hand. She’s so close now.

Charlie’s eyes shoot open. Panting heavily, she looks around. It takes her a second to realize that she’s alone and that the only fingers that had been touching her sensitive flesh had been her own.

She’s aroused to the point where it’s uncomfortable, the images of the dream still floating around her mind. She removes her hand from her pants and with shaking fingers, zips them back up. Her knees feeling like jelly, she gets to her feet and takes stock of herself. Of course, her shirt isn’t torn. It’s exactly as it was when she went to sleep.

Her knife sits, discarded in the straw next to where she’d been sleeping. She realizes that her bra is flipped up under her shirt. She corrects this and is confronted with one very disturbing thought. She’s done this to herself—while dreaming about Sebastian Monroe.

When she flops back down in the straw, she tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable. Her skin still feels hot and her body is still in want. She’s torn between taking care of her problem and just willing it away—the source of it is too mortifying.

He’d been there, in her dreams… and she hadn’t wanted him to stop. As she tries to control herself, she hears the distant thunder once more.

~~~~~

Bass sits up abruptly in bed. His heart is pounding in his chest, a thin sheet of sweat covering his bare skin. He looks around, hallway expecting to be somewhere other than his bedroom. It had been so real.

The erection between his legs is throbbing to the point where it is almost painful. He’d found her… and what he’d found, he’d wanted. Even now, he can almost feel her wet heat around his finger.

The unexpected dream is as disturbing as it is enlightening. He hasn’t had a dream like that since he was a teenager. In that dream, he’d wanted the girl so much it hurt. He still wanted her.

Bass gets out of bed, wincing and opens up the window to let more air in. The room has become uncomfortably hot. He flops back down onto the mattress and tosses and turns. He’s aching for release still. Knowing he’ll receive no peace otherwise, he goes to correct the problem, blue eyes and blonde curls locked in his mind all the while. In the distance, a storm abates, but he can still hear the thunder through the open window.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Whynotitsfun for all your help and for writing the dream scene.


End file.
